


Vengeance

by anythingbutplatonic



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Bratva AU, F/M, Gen, I'm so sorry for how angsty this is, Implied rape/sexual assault, bratva!Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutplatonic/pseuds/anythingbutplatonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know what you have to do, don't you? You have to kill that son of a bitch."</p>
<p>A Bratva AU ficlet inspired by the end scene of 4x10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vengeance

The plan had been simple.

Kill the _kapitan’s_ wife. 

For weeks - no, months - there had been talk among the ranks of the Star City branch of the Solntsevskaya Bratva of how their captain was no longer fit to lead their chapter of the organisation. That, ever since he had met the small blonde from Las Vegas who had an excellent eye for blackjack and an IQ higher than all the men of their organization combined, he had allowed himself to become weak and yielding. In their eyes, he no longer had power, or authority; in deference to her, he had lost his command over their branch and they were suffering because of it.  She was a threat to them, to the stability of their operations in Star City.  

Felicity Smoak - Felicity _Queen_ , though her married name was never mentioned among these men, traitors as they were - there had to be eliminated. 

Neither Felicity nor Oliver had realized that some within those they considered family stood to plot against them until she had been forcibly taken from their home, along with their three-year-old daughter, one night while Oliver had been attending to business elsewhere. 

The guilt of not being there that night twisted at his gut and made him physically ill, tasting bile at the back of his throat every time he looked over at Felicity and saw the white circle of paler skin where her wedding band should have been, the one he gave her when they got married, had it not been ripped from her finger in act of vengeance by her kidnapper. Along with the diamond ring it accompanied, it had been pulled from her bruised and broken finger and stamped on, warping the metal till it was unwearable. She had been spat on, beaten, and had a gun pointed at her head, and at the head of their daughter. 

He hadn’t been able to protect them. Not his wife, and not his daughter. 

Three years old. That’s how old she had been. She’d barely started talking yet; every morning, he was greeted by her small hands pulling at his clothes, to her jumping on the bed between him and Felicity, babbling at them nonsensically. 

“Up!” she would say, her blonde hair sticking up at the back where she’d slept on it, one of her front teeth missing from falling on the stairs a few months ago, “Up, Daddy, up!”

Daphne had been their pride and joy, her presence a light and a beacon in their household. 

The same hands, his wife’s hands, that handed him a gun during interrogations, would smooth their daughter’s pigtails and help her brush her teeth, standing at the sink on her “big girl stool”, her pyjamas too long for her, the cuffs on the pants rolled up over her bare feet. 

The same voice, his voice, that was capable of instilling fear and respect in even the hardest of men, would tell her silly bedtime stories, guiding her little hands to turn the pages of her storybooks, her delight at his attempt at a witch’s cackling laugh making his heart soar. She would clap, shrieking, “Again! Again!” as Felicity watched from the doorway, smiling and shaking her head, wondering if it was possible to _be_  any happier than this. 

When the traitors within the Bratva killed Daphne, a single gunshot to the chest drowned out by her mother’s screams, something happened between him and Felicity. Something sharp and ugly had forced its way between them, splintering their bond and their hearts. 

“Are you okay?” 

Stupid question, really, but he asked it anyway, pushing the words from his throat as though it physically hurt him to do so. He had to ask. He had to _know_. 

Felicity’s breath caught in her chest; though she wouldn’t look at him, he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks, anger and pain making her body shake with the effort of holding it together. 

For him. 

“Are you?”

In his mind’s eye, he saw Felicity, crying and bloody, cradling her broken finger and the body of their daughter, her pale hair streaked with dirt and more blood. He saw her missing wedding ring, the bruise on her cheek, the rip in her skirt and the holes in her sweater. 

Felicity, his beautiful Felicity, so brave and strong and fierce, sobbing in his arms. 

“No.”

She sniffed audibly, her fingers twitching in her lap. 

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” she said, her voice shaking with grief and fury, her words like acid pouring from her throat. 

“You have to kill that son of a bitch.”


End file.
